


Perfectly Capable

by iloveyoudie



Series: Morseverse Prompt Fills [13]
Category: Endeavour (TV), Inspector Morse & Related Fandoms, Inspector Morse (TV), Inspector Morse - Colin Dexter, Lewis (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Parallels, Period Typical Attitudes, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 11:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17682839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveyoudie/pseuds/iloveyoudie
Summary: She heard the words echo eerily from years before. It wouldn’t be the first mental comparison she’d made between the late DCI Morse and James Hathaway but nothing had ever been this spot on.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greenapricot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenapricot/gifts).



> A prompt fill for tumblr for greenapricot - Morse or James  
>  “Despite what you think, I am completely capable of taking care of myself”
> 
> I ended up doing both. Plus extra.

"Oh!" Laura Hobson's hand flew to her throat and she half yelled as she opened the door to the late Dr. Debryn's office and not only found it unlocked, but found a man sitting at his desk, head fallen to his chest, and in the dark.

"Inspector Morse?"

" _Chief_ Inspector," The silver haired man murmured with slow exhausted irritation as he lifted his head and Laura was met with those penetrating blue eyes of his, glassy and tired. Seeing her finally he replied, "Hobson."

" _Doctor_ Hobson," She said firmly and that made his lips twitch in momentary amusement. Morse nodded an agreement before his eyes dropped once again to his own lap. There was an entire bottle of brandy next to him, unopened, beside one of his arms that was extended across the desktop with his hand clenched closed and bloody.

"Do you need some help with that?" Laura nodded to the hand and watched as Morse's eyes flicked to it and his face blanched. He swiftly looked away.

"I suppose I forgot Max was-" He didn't finish, instead a visible shiver seemed to run through him and his eyes misted over, "He was my own personal A&E, you know. I don't do well with blood."

"I know," Laura finally stepped inside and closed the door behind her, "He told me."

"Like he told you about the times of death?" Morse had been surprised when she'd mentioned that on their first scene together. Max had always been a pain in the arse about times of death, just to spite him.

"Yes," Her eyes skimmed the small office for the old doctor's easily accessible first aid, "He talked about you every once in a while."

"Complaining likely," Morse snorted wryly. He then gestured to a small sink towards the back of the ancient corner office, "The kit's over there."

The offices in this section of the building were outdated and Debryn likely should have been moved out long ago into something more modern but he had been a formidable man and not the type to be bullied out of his comfortable space. Laura knew the administration had been itching to knock down this old block and her predecessor had been one of the few hangers on. She'd come by to finally go through his papers because it had dawned on her that no one else would. Laura wasn't looking forward to it but even less was she looking forward to seeing the old corners of this wing turned into broom cupboards and cookie cutter consulting rooms after everything was hauled out and trashed.

It had been two weeks since she'd found Dr. Debryn unconscious on the lab floor, Morse's case-relevant skeleton still spread out on the work table.

Two whole weeks since the old doctor awoke in a hospital bed and demanded Morse be let in to his room outside of visiting hours.

Two weeks since he threatened the job of everyone on the cardiac ward if they didn't allow the detective to see him.

Two weeks since the old man finally found peace enough, after Morse's visit, to take his last breath.

Two weeks, she suspected now, since Inspector Morse had a decent night's sleep.

She'd like to say that time crawled by without old Max but it had, in fact, flown. Morse's murder case had resulted in another body and had to be closed. Dr. Debryn didn't want a funeral and so there had been nothing to break up the weeks and give them all breathing room.

No time to mourn.

Laura would have appreciated a moment to process and say goodbye, but instead she'd been run ragged trying to fill in where the old man had left off. There was no easy way to say that she had underestimated just how much work he'd actually done and in that whole time his office had sat locked and untouched, down to his last empty paper coffee cup in the bin, and if she didn't go through it herself no one was going to.

At least that's what she'd thought until she found Morse here.

Laura fetched the kit and returned to Morse's side. She pulled up a chair and he, without even searching, opened a side drawer of the desk and produced two small glasses.

"How did you get in?" She took Morse's hand gingerly and finding him pliant, began to clean the wound. The cut was rather shallow and wouldn't need anything more than a bandage. He likely could have dealt with it himself but Laura suspected there was more to it than that.

"Keys," Morse produced a rather healthy ring of keys that Laura recognized as Dr. Debryn's own. There was a rather goofy looking plastic fish key ring that she'd always found a bit cheesy for the old man, but it had always been there as long as she had known him. Morse dropped the keys on the desk with a clatter.

"I gave him that you know," He nodded to the old, slightly worn and discolored plastic trout.

"The fish?"

"Yes."

"I always thought it was a bit hideous," She said plainly as he both laughed and hissed from a sudden sting of antiseptic on his palm.

"It is, isn't it?" Morse chuckled kindly, "One of our- his-" He sighed and gave up, "One of our holidays. I saw it and it was so hideous and he was always so..." He waved his hand in front of his chest and gestured to all of him, "put together, you know. He said it was the ugliest fish he'd ever seen and something about it not even having the right amount of fins..." Morse smiled, "He was the fisherman. Not me. I would read and sunbathe."

"Sounds better than fishing," Laura smiled.

"Much," Morse's color had returned, "But he put it right on his keys anyway and it hasn't left since."

Max had never talked about his private life much, mostly he was just her mentor at work, but they'd had a lunch or two and occasional drinks when the evening got on too late and he hurried them all out to their families. Laura had liked the old doctor quite a bit. He was funny and intelligent and biting in all the best ways. Several of the other pathologists had jokingly called him her dad once or twice, and it had caught on a bit for the entire pathology department. Dr. Debryn was their work-father and they his wayward lab children. It had been an ongoing amusement, 'Uh oh! Dad's angry!' or 'Dad's having a bad day!' and after frustrating crime scenes 'Dad must've had a row with his husband'. She'd never really given it a thought, just one of those ongoing things people said at work, but now she realized the truth of it. Maybe she had always. But Max had always felt it necessary, insisted even, that she be prepared to deal with the ornery detective if the time came for it, and Laura knew more about Morse's methods than he probably expected.

"Despite what you may think," Morse broke their momentary silence again, "I am completely capable of taking care of myself."

Laura smiled, "I don't doubt it in the least, detective."

"Morse," He looked softer again, "Just Morse."

She smirked, "And I'm still just Doctor Hobson."

"Fair enough," It made him laugh and Morse finally was watching what she was doing now that the blood was cleaned up, "What are _you_ doing here?" 

"I thought someone should go through his things maybe," Laura grabbed a clean bandage, "Once I realized no one had come to clean it out."

"That's very kind of you," He watched her face and she could suddenly feel how unnerving it must be to be under interrogation from the man. He seemed to have an unshakable attentiveness when he wanted to, "He liked you, you know. He mentioned you at the end."

"I liked him too," Laura acknowledged, "A bit strange but very good at his job. And funny."

"He was, wasn't he?" Morse sniffed idly and smiled, "Not everyone understood him or his humor."

"But you did, didn't you?" She tilted her head as she secured the bandage.

"As much as he allowed me to. We were never the easiest pair."

Laura could only imagine, "I'm afraid my efforts aren't entirely charitable. A lot of this paperwork is likely hospital records. It simply needs to be gone through."

"I took all of his personal things already," Morse admitted. He looked at the desk top where there were noticeable gaps in the books lined up there and on the shelves around the room. The coat rack was devoid of the usual extra mackintosh and cardigans, "The rest is all yours."

Laura found Morse's sadness quiet but palpable. She believed fully that he'd shown up with the expectation to find the old doctor still here, puttering about with a sour word but always with time for Morse. Instead he'd discovered and remembered on his arrival that Max was gone. Noticing now that the old doctor's personal things had really been cleaned out, no stray poetry books or old framed photos, suddenly made it all more real. Laura, done bandaging completely, stopped to hold Morse's hand a moment, a long enough moment that he noticed and looked back.

"It's not odd you know, when it comes to a loved one," She chose the words carefully, "to forget they are gone. Especially so soon after their death. They're programmed into your life, into your routine-"

Morse sighed and pulled his hand away, it interrupted her speech but neither party looked particularly offended. They were simply near-strangers having to bond over the loss of a friend. A colleague and mentor for her, and something much more for Morse.

The inspector, now in possession of two operational hands, finally unscrewed the bottle he'd brought and poured them each a measure into the empty glasses.

"When Max stitched me up for the first time, many moons ago, we had a drink of this," He pushed the glass across to her, "Seems only fitting. Wouldn't you say, Doctor Hobson?"

"I would," She smiled and turned it in her fingers. She was curious just how long it had been since those two men had met. Younger than she was now? "Though I wouldn't get in the habit of using me as your casualty ward, Morse."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Morse smiled sadly.

Laura smiled and lifted her drink, "For Dr. Debryn?"

"For Max," Morse lifted his glass as well.

They drank.

"Say, Morse," Laura set her empty glass down, "you wouldn't mind helping me would you? To go through his papers?"

Morse seemed to pause and think, but Laura continued, "I wouldn't mind the company. Or hearing about the first time Max stitched you up."

Morse took a moment, a slow rumination, poured himself another drink and then he smiled small, "It is a good story."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For clarity, this follows novel continuity. Max dies during The Way Through the Woods exactly as I have detailed here.  
> Laura is his successor.


	2. Chapter 2

Laura had only stepped out of her office for a few minutes, a vending machine run as she spent a late Friday shift doing paperwork, when she returned clutching bags of crisps and a cold can of something caffeinated and found a man inside, at her desk, with his head hung low as he dug around in one of her drawers.

Despite a faux-wave of deja vu, the blonde head was immediately recognizable.

"James?!"

He didn't look startled so much as he looked caught in the middle of something, "Dr. Hobson."

"Oh please. _Laura_ ," She stepped inside and closed the door behind her and noticed for the first time that he was clutching one of his hands shut and there were traces of blood on her desk blotter, "Need some help with that?"

"Despite what you may think," James glanced at his hand, flexed it, and continued rummaging with his free one until he produced her kit from where he knew it to be, "I am completely capable of taking care of myself."

She heard the words echo eerily from years before. It wouldn't be the first mental comparison she'd made between the late DCI Morse and James Hathaway but nothing had ever been this spot on.

"Yes, of course you are," Laura made an unconvinced face, "Which is why you are bleeding in my office on a Friday night. Moping."

She stopped his rummaging, relieved him of the medical supplies, and took a seat herself. Snacks were abandoned to unfold James's bloodied hand which looked very much like he'd punched something. Something glass. Or there had been punching and unrelated glass, either way his knuckles were scraped and bruised and his palm was sporting a shallow gash.

"I'm not moping," James sniffed idly and Laura could still feel the cold of the outside on his coat, the hanging scent of his cigarettes, and the vague smell of beer that meant he'd been in a pub, had a pub tipped over onto him, or had just one too many pints, "This was just closest."

"The White Hart?"

"One of them," James shrugged.

"And I suppose it's not a coincidence," Laura began as she cleaned his wound. James flinched over his knuckles and cast his eyes a bit to the distant wall when the doctor continued, "That Robbie has gone off to his daughter's for the weekend and your Friday night date-"

James's eyes widened and flicked to her.

"-boy's night," she corrected, "Has been rather rudely put on hold. Especially after the case this week."

"Not rudely," James rubbed his brow idly and glanced away again, "I just don't usually forget plans. But I got wrapped up in the case and-"

She didn't interrupt him, she only watched him, and James seemed to falter slightly in his explanation. He was disappointed in himself more than Robbie. He missed him, that was clear as day, and Robbie was clueless as usual to his sergeants unending devotion and need.

"You could always call him if you need someone to talk to. I'm sure he would appreciate it," She had adequately irrigated the wound and now grabbed a clean bandage to press to his palm.

"No," His head shake was vehement, "I don't want to bother him. I don't even have anything to talk about."

"That's a shame," She smiled gently at him, "because I'm here too. For talking."

James smiled at that but still looked rather hopeless. Aimless was probably be a better word. Laura quietly bandaged him and when his hand was wrapped, clean and secure, she rested her fingers on top of his.

"I am a poor man's Robert Lewis," She patted his hand, "But I can supply a night in, a drink and company," James started to open his mouth but she interrupted him, "Whether anything to talk about crops up, we will just wait and see. But I do happen to be an expert on being frustrated with _Monsieur_ Lewis."

James's stormy eyes searched her face, clearly afraid of what giving too much away could mean, but also knowing his cover was suitably blown.

"Thank you," James fingers lifted, the tops of them brushing under her own. He seemed needy for the contact before he reluctantly pulled away, "But I don't want to interrupt your work."

"Oh it's much too late for that," Laura laughed, "It seems I'm always at the mercy of wayward detectives."

She reached forward, brushed some cigarette ash from his coat lapels, and tugged them straight for him with no small amount of force, "So what do you say. Back to mine for a drink?"

The small bit of jostling seemed to put a bit of rigidity in his spine and finally James nodded and smiled, "Just one."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a prequel

"Come along, Morse," Max Debryn walked briskly down the hallway of the JR2, pushing a bloodied Morse a foot in front of him with no small insistence, "Really. Pub brawling from a police officer-"

Max himself wasn't as totally put together as usual, in fact his cheeks were ruddy with exertion and as he shook his keys out of his pocket, his hands trembled for a single second before he caught himself.

"He deserved it," Morse frowned as he pressed his scraped and bruised hand to his lip and hissed to find it split and bleeding.

"In," Max ordered as he got his office door open. It wasn't very big but it was the first office that had ever been his and his alone. Not a hand-me-down from the previous tenant, not shared. This was his and only ever had been since they had moved to this building.

Morse stepped over to the sofa and dropped into it with a sigh of relief as Max moved to the back sink and cabinet and fetched a small medical kit.

"I thought you were a pacifist. Never known you to throw the first punch," Max joined him and gestured for the man to sit up.

"He called you a-"

"Sticks and stones, Morse," Max interrupted him, not wanting to hear the slur again. Not needing to. The reality of the ugly situation actually had him flushing despite himself.

Morse had punched a man in the middle of a pub for calling him a name. No one had ever done that before. Not for him.

Max noticed, as he held Morse's chin in his fingers and dabbed his split lip with a damp cloth, that the other man was watching him. He could only imagine what sort of thoughts were stewing in that over-active mind. Morse was complicated, both liberal minded and conservative in equal measure. He knew that most people simply understood where Max's preferences lay romantically, but it wasn't talked about, and up until very recently it wasn't even legal. Out of sight, out of mind, for everyone but him.

"It was an ugly thing," Morse said when the cloth moved away from his lip, "Why are you alright with it?"

"I'm not alright with it," Max said with a defensive snap, "No one should be, but this is the world we live in, Morse. Surely you understand that much? A few years ago you'd be duty bound to investigate me after hearing such a thing."

Morse snorted and rolled his eyes, "I wouldn't."

"And why not?"

Morse's brow furrowed and instead of answering he shot back another question, "Why? Would you want me to?"

Max sported a lofty expression despite the tangled anxious weight in his chest. This is not a conversation he had often. Not since he'd started this position and his sister had expressed concern about him working with the police. He wondered now, to himself, if he was doing himself a disservice by pushing it all under the rug as he had been for so long. But this life was safe and he didn't like to think about putting his career or comfort in jeopardy.

"Despite what you think, I am completely capable of taking care of myself. I don't need a white knight, Morse," Max finally lifted his chin and peered through his glasses for bandages for the detective's hand.

"Maybe you do," Morse's lip curled, not from his statement, but from glancing at his own bloody knuckles.

That actually made Max laugh a bit, the oppressive weight of the topic lightening, "And that'll be you, will it?"

Morse looked serious and a bit huffy that Max was amused, "It could be."

Something in Max bubbled again, light and amused and flattered, but he was no fool. He certainly wasn't fool enough to simply fall for Morse based on such easy proclamations. The man was certainly a picture, and battered and bruised he preyed upon Max's own personal tastes rather effectively, but he knew him well. Too well to be so easily swayed by the man's momentary chivalry.

"That, I think," Max bandaged the man's hand but did hold it between his own for a long moment before he released him and rose from the sofa, "is a conversation for another night."

Max moved to the desk, produced a bottle and two glasses from a side drawer, and poured them each one.

"No one has ever defended me like that, Morse," He lifted his own glass as the other man pushed up to join him.

"It was very gallant of you, but very foolish," Max smiled, "Thank you."

Morse smirked a bit, shrugged, and lifted his own glass, "Any time."


End file.
